Together We'll Face the Turning Tide
by Stoneage Woman
Summary: Twoshot, Bruce/Gordon friendship. When the Batman is injured, Gordon is forced to make an awful choice to save his life, one that will change their friendship forever. Part 6 of my 'Rooftop' series; the series is now complete.
1. Undone

Title: Together We'll Face the Turning Side

NOTE: This is Part 6, the final installment of my Rooftop series. It is in two parts, both of which have already been written, so you won't have long to wait. I'll post Part 2 in a few days.

THANKS TO my beta-reader, Warriora, for her incisive editting and advice and the blunders she has saved me from over the course of this series. Love you, girl!

* * *

Part 1: Undone

_When darkness is no less  
Than everything you've built become undone,  
There's no fight and no flight,  
Disaster leaves your passion overrun..._

_- _Poets of the Fall, _"Dawn"_

* * *

Gordon stared unseeingly at the television screen, his mind a million miles away from his body. He knew he should be paying more attention; it wasn't often that he got a night off to do something as mundane as watching a movie with his wife. But he simply couldn't keep his attention on some cheesy romantic comedy Barbara had insisted was a great date movie; not while knowing the Batman was still out there fighting crime and being hunted by Gordon's own men.

He knew it was ridiculous and irrational to feel guilty for taking an evening off to spend with his family, but he couldn't help himself. His job had always weighed heavily on him, and it was far worse since the Batman had taken on the blame for Dent's crimes. He worried continually about whether the vigilante would be caught; and what he, Gordon, would do if that happened. It wasn't something he liked thinking about, but as it could very well happen any day, without giving him any warning, he didn't have a choice. Would he come forward with the truth? It would destroy his career and probably put him behind bars. And there was no guarantee it would save the Batman anyway, since by that point everyone would know who he was. But it would probably save the Batman from a death sentence.

But there was something else bothering him tonight, something worse. It was what he had learned last week when the caped crusader had told him the reason for his coldness- not because he was angry about Lamburn, and although Gordon had been unspeakably relieved to hear that, it would have been easier to bear than the truth. The Batman had lost the last person he had left. The unspeakable grief in those hazel eyes and the tears he hadn't quite managed to contain had shown him just how hard that loss had hit. It was the most emotion the vigilante had ever displayed before Gordon, and it had filled him with fear, fear that the man was slowly falling apart. With no one left, how could he possibly keep going? Being the Batman had always been an incredibly lonely job, Gordon had realised that in his very first months working with the vigilante. He couldn't even imagine what it was like for him now.

And he knew, too, that the Batman must also be feeling the guilt over Lamburn's death. Gordon winced a little at the thought. His timing with that had been awful. He had _known_ that evening that something was wrong, but he had been so caught up trying to find a way, _any way_, to keep more innocent women from being raped and killed that he had ignored his instincts. And the Batman had first lost his friend and then been asked to sacrifice the only other thing he had; the one sacred rule he lived by. He wished he had held off on asking him to kill Lamb urn, if only for a few days.

But what they had done had been necessary, and it had worked. Word had spread through the criminal fraternity the moment Lamburn had been killed. The Batman had stopped seven crimes in the past few weeks simply by showing up, and four more by threatening bodily harm. It was the most success they'd seen in months.

He glanced at Barbara and felt his stomach churn. She thought she had married a good man, a protector of the law. Instead, he had _violated _that law. Had gone further than he'd ever thought he'd have to. He was under no illusions as to how far he'd crossed the line. The greatest, most hideous irony of all was that _he _had been put on the Lamburn case, by express order from Mayor Garcia, because it was "high profile" and had to be "handled with sensitivity", which was code for "don't you _dare_ let the press find out the D.A.'s brother was responsible for the rapes going around town." As a consequence, he had to go through the motions of investigating a crime _he_ had committed. The _dirtiness_ of the affair made him sick. The lies he was forced to tell every day made him feel like he was living a double life, and he wondered if this was even remotely like what the Batman went through. If it was, he had no idea how the man had stayed sane for this long. His cell phone vibrated on the coffee table, interrupting his thoughts.

He flipped it open, frowning as he saw that it was an unknown caller. "Commissioner Gordon speaking."

"Gordon," rasped a familiar voice on the other end, and he nearly dropped the phone in shock. "I need your help."

"What is it?" he asked, voice taut with worry, his fingers clutching the phone in a white-knuckled grip.

The Batman _never_ called him. Text messages in the code they used was how they usually set up meets. Neither of them wanted to risk phone calls, even if the Batman's cell phone was untraceable. Beside him Barbara paused the movie, giving him a familiar look of mingled annoyance and resignation, but he had no time to acknowledge it. His entire attention was focussed on the Batman's voice.

"I've been shot-"

"_What?!" _Gordon leapt to his feet, heart pounding. "Are you-?"

"I'm_ fine_," the Batman interrupted with his usual growl, but his heavy breathing betrayed him. "It's not serious, just a flesh wound. It got me in the shoulder, the back. I need...I need help stitching it, I can't reach."

"I'm on my way," Gordon said roughly, suddenly feeling terrible. He knew exactly why the Batman had stumbled over his words, and it was so depressingly _sad_ that it made his chest tighten and his eyes sting. The Batman had lost the person who took care of his injuries, and that was why he'd been forced to call Gordon. "Where are you?" he asked.

The Batman rattled off some coordinates, and Gordon hung up, shrugging on his coat as he hurried towards the front door. He paused, and then doubled back to grab the first aid kit.

"It's him, isn't it?" Barbara asked, or rather stated, following him. Her voice was a mixture of understanding and reproach. Babs didn't like him working with the vigilante, but on the other hand the Batman had also saved her family's life.

"I have to go," he said, evading the question.

She nodded, unsurprised, eyes still worried. "Be safe."

He mumbled a response, already halfway out the door. The Batman was only a few blocks away- apparently, he'd been in the neighbourhood- but the drive seemed interminable. By the time he got to the place- it was a building in its last stages of construction- he had imagined all the worst case scenarios possible. Images of the Batman bleeding out on some cold, godforsaken terrace swam before his eyes as he all but ran the nine stories up the fire escape stairs. When he reached the rooftop, he was panting and covered with sweat.

The Batman was sitting with his back against a wall. He was completely motionless save for the rise and fall of his armour-plated chest, and his eyes were closed. Gordon rushed forward, thinking for one awful moment that the other man was unconscious, but the Batman stirred and opened his eyes.

"That was fast," he growled breathily.

Gordon didn't bother to respond. He slid down on his knees beside the masked man and began to help him lean forward so that he could examine his back. Thankfully it was a full moon, and the light from the nearby street lights was just enough for him to see what he was doing. "What happened?"

"I was trying to stop a mugging," the Batman said, voice tight with pain.

Gordon began to feel along the edges of the armour covering the Batman's back, trying to figure out how to get it off. "_Please_ don't tell me you got this stepping in front of someone else's bullet," he muttered, because that would just be typical, wouldn't it?

The Batman took a second too long to respond. "It was the police. They showed up just as I was taking care of the mugger. I guess the victim managed to call 911 without me realizing it, and there was a car patrolling close by. I don't know. I couldn't get away in time."

Gordon's hands stilled as guilt and horror crashed over him. He had feared this since the day he had made the decision to let the Batman take the fall for Dent's murders. And now it had finally happened, and he was to blame, because he'd been the one to call it in that night.

"It's not your fault," the Batman said with almost no growl in his voice.

The soft words shook him out of his thoughts, and he brutally pushed the guilt away. There would be time enough for that later; right now he had more pressing concerns. He found two sets of clasps on the edges of the Batman's armour and pressed down on them. The armour came undone in hands, and he couldn't hold back a whispered, _"Fuck."_

The Batman stiffened in surprise at the uncharacteristic profanity, but right now, Gordon could care less about that. The black nylon bodysuit the Batman wore under his armour was completely drenched with what could only be blood.

"It's not as bad as it looks," the Batman said half-heartedly.

"Your whole back is soaked!" Gordon retorted. He pressed down on the wound and the Batman flinched and inhaled sharply. "Look, there's no way I'm going to be able to treat this here. You need to go to a hos-"

"No!" said the Batman with so much force that Gordon started in surprise. "Look," the Batman continued after a short, tense pause. "You haven't even _seen_ the wound yet. I'm sure you have scissors in that first aid kit, to cut the bodysuit..."

It didn't escape Gordon that the Batman had asked him to use scissors; clearly he was in too much pain to get the suit off by himself. That in itself was worrying, since the Batman didn't often admit to weakness, or pain.

But the man was right; Gordon _hadn't_ seen the wound yet. Still using one hand to keep pressure on the wound, he took the scissors from the first aid kit and began to cut the cloth. It was difficult, since it clung to the Batman's skin and he was using only one hand, but the scissors were sharp, so he was able to manage.

"Was it a through and through?" he asked as he worked, to distract himself from the heavily scarred, bloodied skin that was becoming visible with every inch he cut.

"Yeah," the Batman responded, and suddenly shivered. His exposed skin was covered with gooseflesh, and Gordon realized that without his armour, the Batman must be freezing. Wordlessly, he rose, shrugged off his coat and draped it over his front in a lose kind of blanket. Something in the Batman's eyes flickered at the gesture.

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice husky.

Gordon resumed his examination of the Batman's back. He cut away the last few inches of cloth to expose the wound completely and he grimaced at what he saw. He pressed down hard, and the Batman stiffened with pain. "Batman...this is really bad..." Gordon said cautiously. "It could have nicked a bone, which could lead to permanent damage. And you're still losing blood, you need a hospital..."

"No," the Batman said, but his voice had lost its force. "No hospitals."

But his suit was completely soaked...suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to Gordon. There really _shouldn't_ have been this much blood. He hadn't taken that long to get to the Batman...but how long had the Batman taken to get here? How far had he had to travel to the only person in the city who would be able to help him? Suddenly, the fact that the Batman was so cold took on a different meaning all together. Cold was a symptom of blood loss. As if in confirmation of his fears the Batman began to slump forward, and Gordon quickly caught him.

"Batman!"

"I'm fine," the Batman said, but he was leaning heavily on Gordon now, and his voice sounded like it was very faint. "No hospitals, Gordon. No matter what. Promise me..."

"You can't be serious! There's no way-"

"Promise me, Gordon." And then he slumped back against him, unconscious.

"Dammit, Batman, I am _not_ going to let you die on me!" Gordon shouted frantically. He fumbled for his cell phone, but made himself stop before he began to dial, knowing he needed to think this through. It would be disastrous if the Batman's identity was revealed, and Gordon realized with a sinking feeling that there was only one way he could protect him.

He had to take off his mask.

He had to take the Batman in as an ordinary man.

An icy chill descended over him. Over the past few months, he'd started to get used to the thought of a real man, with real vulnerabilities under the mask. He had even told the Batman that he could tell him who he was, and he had meant it. But the thought of putting a face and a name to the vigilante after so many years of anonymity was still enough to shake him. And worse than that, the thought of taking off the mask when the Batman was unconscious, of violating his trust like that...

But it was the only way to save him. He remembered what he had told the Batman once, months ago. _"You saved me, and you saved my family. Do you really think I wouldn't do _anything_ in my power if you ever needed help?" _The time had come for him to make good on that promise.

"I'm sorry, Batman, but I'd rather have you feeling angry and betrayed than dead."

Gently, he manoeuvred the Batman's limp form off himself and onto the cold, bare cement floor, cringing a little as he did so, but there was no way he could avoid it. He needed his hands free. Quickly tying an ace bandage around the Batman's shoulder, he went to work on taking off the rest of the Batman's body armour. All the while his heart pounded in his chest as he wondered if this delay was killing the man before him. He didn't think he could live with himself if that happened. But he forced himself not to call the paramedics because he knew that a medevac helicopter would respond within minutes and he needed more time than that to get rid of all the evidence. The armour came off fairly easily- Gordon supposed it had to, if the Batman often sustained these kinds of injuries on the job. _That_ thought was enough to make him slightly nauseous.

Next were the gloves, and he was alarmed to find that the Batman's hands _(and why in God's name does he have manicured nails?!) _were freezing cold to the touch, and his pulse was fast and thready. Both were definite symptoms of blood loss.

And then...all that was left was the mask held in place by the cowl. In spite of himself, he hesitated again as it hit him with renewed force what he was about to do. He pushed past it, reached down and untied the cowl with hands that he had to force not to shake, and then, very gently, almost reverently, he took off the mask.

His mind went blank with shock. The mask slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor, but he didn't even notice. He stumbled back, eyes riveted, uncomprehending, on Bruce Wayne'sface.

_No_, he thought numbly. _It can't be. _There was no fucking way the Batman could be...

But the memories rose, unbidden, before his eyes.

_A pale-faced boy, sitting hunched and shivering in a chair inside the police station. _

"_It's okay," whispered Gordon, placing a coat around his shoulders. "It's okay."_

_-_

"_Mr. Wayne, isn't it? That's a very brave thing you did."_

_Wayne looked at him blankly. "Trying to catch the light?"_

"_Wha- you weren't protecting the van?"_

"_Why? Who's in it?"_

_-_

"_And what about what you're risking? You have a family too, don't you? And still, you-"_

"_My family's dead," the Batman growled. "I'm not risking a damn thing."_

_-_

"_There's only one person I blame for this, Commissioner," Bruce Wayne said as he stared unseeingly down at the grave of Alfred Pennyworth. "And it's not you."_

_Gordon shivered a little at the darkness in his voice._

-

"_Mr. Wayne…I know I should probably go," Gordon said hesitantly, "But that day, you thanked me for being there, even though…even though I barely know you."_

_-_

"_I lost someone very close to me, recently," the Batman told Gordon, in a broken, bare voce, "And then right after that, you asked me to break my one rule."_

-

"Oh, my God," he whispered.

For a moment, all he could do was stand there as the full horror of the situation crashed over him. If Bruce Wayne had been the Batman all along..._all this time_...His mind reeled. He didn't know how he was supposed to react this. He would have stood there, frozen for the rest of the night, but somehow one coherent thought broke through the tumult in his mind.

He had to call in the paramedics, _now._ Whether this man was the Bruce Wayne or somebody else, it made no difference, because there was no way he could let him die.

His hands fumbled frantically for the phone.

* * *

TBC...

More soon, I promise. Please review!


	2. Greet the Dawn

Title: Together We'll Face the Turning Tide

Part 2: Greet the Dawn

_It's time to let go, it's time to carry on with the show.  
Don't mourn what is gone, greet the dawn  
And I will be standing by your side;  
Together we'll face the turning tide._

- Poets of the Fall, _"Dawn"_

* * *

It was the beeping that woke him. The sound was incredibly annoying, like a digital alarm clock beeping at half its usual speed. Bruce grimaced, and tried unsuccessfully to ignore it for awhile before giving up and opening his eyes. He found himself staring up at a stark white ceiling. White light, dimmed but still harsh to his just-awakened senses, made him squint. He sat up slowly, aware of the dull throb in his back, and realized with alarm that he was in a hospital.

Then the events of the day came rushing back and his alarm quickly changed to panic. He glanced to his right and saw Commissioner Jim Gordon dozing in a very uncomfortable-looking hospital chair. His hand flew to his face, instinctively searching for the mask, but it wasn't there. His heart began to race as visions of prison cells and murder trials swam before his eyes.

Gordon jerked awake as the beeping from the heart monitor accelerated. He looked past exhaustion, like he hadn't slept in days. How long had he been sitting there? Bruce could only stare at him like a deer caught in headlights, his heart continuing to race. He had never before felt so utterly vulnerable.

"Calm down," Gordon said, his voice a little rough from sleep, but soothing and resonant. "You're safe. No one knows who you are. I told them the Batman kidnapped you." He snorted at the irony. "I should call the nurse." He reached towards the call button on the side of the bed. "You were in critical condition for days-"

Even injured and groggy, Bruce's reflexes didn't fail him. His hand flashed out and grabbed Gordon's arm before it could reach its destination. The older man started, shock and wariness and perhaps even a little fear appearing in his eyes at the strength of that grip, as though he had suddenly been reminded who the man lying in front of him really was.

"I don't-" Bruce faltered. "How did I get here?"

For a beat, Gordon just stared at him, at a loss for words. And then suddenly, with an intensity that bordered on desperation, "I called for a medevac helicopter. I couldn't let you die, so I _had_ to take off your mask. I didn't- I never really wanted to know. When I realized who you were..." His voice died, and for a second he couldn't speak. And then he finished in a whisper, "I couldn't let you die."

Bruce let go of Gordon's arm. The seconds ticked by. Gordon moved to the seat he had taken earlier. He didn't try to call the nurse again. They both knew there were things that needed to be said before they were caught up in medical talk and police interviews. It was very late at night, and the room was a private one- only the best for Bruce Wayne- so there was no chance of being overheard. They both knew they might not get another opportunity for a long time, but neither of them knew quite how to talk to each other. The silence stretched on, only interrupted by the regular beeping of the heart monitor.

"I never wanted you to have to find out, least of all like this," Bruce said at last. "I'm sorry."

Gordon shook his head. Even two days later, he was still reeling. "I never suspected who you were even for a second," he said hoarsely. "I should have. There were so many clues. Over the past couple of days I've been going over every conversation we ever had and..._ I should have seen it._ I just-God. Maybe I didn't want to see it." He made a helpless gesture and exhaled shakily, "I wish it had been anyone but you."

In spite of himself, Bruce felt a stab of pain and fear at the damning words. He knew, in his head, that Gordon was shocked, still stunned by the revelation that_ he _had been the man behind the mask. He had every reason to be; Bruce knew that; his image had been so well-cultivated that now of course it would work against him. But. Gordon was the only person who really knew him. The only person left. If Gordon walked away, Bruce knew he wouldn't survive it. His years at playing a double life served him well. None of the paralysing fear he was feeling showed on his face. But he couldn't control the slight stiffening of his shoulders or the way his body shifted just a fraction of an inch away from Gordon, as if he was bracing himself for a blow. It wouldn't even have been noticeable to anyone else, but Gordon had spent too many long months with the Batman not to pick up on it immediately.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, dismayed and at how his words had been interpreted, "Do you think I _care_ what face you put on for the rest of the world?" At Bruce's silence, his voice rose. "Do you think the fact that you're Bruce Wayne could make me think less of you, think less of all the good you've done?"

"Then why...?" Bruce asked, his voice a whisper.

"Because Gotham failed you! You've lost more to this city than anyone should ever have to. And then to have to go out there every night, to be hunted by the very people you're trying to save, all because I turned you in..." Gordon's throat started to close, but he couldn't stop. The stress of the last two days, not knowing if Wayne would live or die; the intense, burning guilt he'd been harbouring for so long about all his decisions concerning the Batman, finally became too much. "It shouldn't have to be you," he said, his voice raw. "It shouldn't have to be you who keeps sacrificing everything. It should be me, it should be the police, the justice system. It was our job to fix this city, and we failed. So we had to turn to you. And you saved us, again and again; you saved me, and you saved my family. And then I turned you in. And I asked you to kill Lamburn. Bruce Wayne, the kid I was supposed to protect, and I asked _you_ to-" He shook his head jerkily. "I've been there every time you lost someone and I was always too late. And all this time..._all this time,_ _you've_ been the Batman?" His breath caught in his throat and his voice died away. There were tears in his eyes.

Bruce could only stare at him dumbly. The sheer intensity of the guilt in Gordon's words had left him speechless. He had never known that Gordon held himself personally responsible for him. He knew, of course, that Gordon cared about the Batman. But he had thought that night when Gordon had comforted Bruce Wayne that it had just been an act of kindness from a naturally compassionate man with no real feeling for him behind it, except perhaps pity. Because Gordon had never really known Bruce Wayne. Had met him a handful of times, and had no obligation to him whatsoever. Bruce realised now that he'd been wrong. They might have met only a handful of times, but it had taken Bruce only one meeting with Gordon to know that he could trust Gordon implicitly. Perhaps that first meeting had touched Gordon, too.

"It was never your job to protect me," he said softly, throat tight. "What happened to me wasn't something you could have stopped. This city had already gone under when you first became a cop. The fact that it was left to me to become the Batman- no it wasn't fair. But it was my destiny, my blood. My parents were good people. My father tried to save this city, he poured his money into it, invested time and effort and hired experts to upgrade the infrastructure. And things were improving; he would have succeeded if he hadn't been killed. It was always supposed to be me who took up the mantle and finish what he started, I think I always knew that. But for a long time I hated anything to do with Wayne Enterprises, anything that reminded me of my parents. I hated Gotham for taking my parents away from me. I washed my hands of this city, ran away because I couldn't face my destiny. But it's _my _city, the same way it was my father's. I have a responsibility to it." He turned so that he was looking Gordon fully in the face, and held his gaze. "It's because I'm his son that I'm the _only one _who can be the Batman. I asked you to turn me in and I killed Lamburn because I knew there was no other choice. Those were all _my_ decisions, not yours. And as for being too late to save them..." Bruce swallowed hard. "So was I."

Gordon searched the younger man's face. It wasn't the face of the seven-year-old child who had just watched his parents being murdered; nor the devastated face of the man at the funeral of his old friend and guardian. He could see that those losses had marked him irrevocably, so that he bore the invisible scars along with the others he carried on his body. But there was also a quiet strength in Wayne's eyes, a combination of savage determination and a hard-won acceptance of his lot. It was a look he had never seen before in Bruce Wayne …but one he'd seen more than once in the Batman's. For the first time, it really hit home that they were one and the same person. The man sitting before him was not a victim, but a warrior. Something inside Gordon eased, and he sat back in his chair. He felt drained and prematurely aged by the events of the last few days, but for the first time since he had taken off the Batman's mask, he also felt like he could breathe.

At the signs of Gordon's relief, Bruce felt the tension drain out of his own shoulders. He leaned back in bed, unable to contain a hiss as his back throbbed painfully at the motion. He saw Gordon's look of concern, and worried for a second that he would try to call the nurse again, but somehow the older man seemed to sense that he didn't have the energy to put up his playboy billionaire act just then. Silence settled between them again, but this time it was a comfortable one.

"So where do we go from here?" Gordon asked some time later.

Bruce thought about it for a second, and gave a bemused smile as he realised that, in spite of everything, nothing had really changed. He was still the Batman, Gordon was still the Commissioner, and they both still had their roles to play and a city to save.

"The same way we've always been," he said. "Fighting crime, cleaning up the streets of Gotham, every other cliché you can think of."

But the concentrated expression on Gordon's face did not abate. "Things can't go on exactly the same," he said. "I know who you are now, and that changes things." He leaned forward in his chair. "You're not in this alone anymore."

A wave of affection and gratitude for the older man stole Bruce's breath. "I was never alone," he said roughly. "I would never have survived this without you. You know that, don't you?"

Gordon looked away, embarrassed by the naked emotion in the younger man's eyes. "You don't have to thank me," he muttered, and Bruce surprised himself by chuckling.

He hadn't felt so light, so relieved, in a long, long time. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled, let alone laughed. He knew the reason for the change, too- it was because Gordon knew who he was. Bruce had never wanted him to have to know, never wanted him to have to carry that burden. But now that he did, he was fiercely, selfishly glad. The last few weeks had been the loneliest of his life.

Some of his thoughts must have showed on his face, because Gordon's expression changed suddenly.

"I saved your life," he said. As he saw Bruce's look of surprise, he hurried to explain, "I mean, I saved Bruce Wayne's life. I was there in time to stop you from bleeding out. So it would make sense for us to become friends, in the real world. Even _Bruce Wayne_ sometimes has finer feelings."

Bruce didn't understand immediately. What Gordon was offering him was so above and beyond anything he had ever expected from him that for a few seconds he could only stare at him dumbly. Then the full import of what Gordon had said hit him, and a thousand protests and arguments rose immediately in his mind; how their friendship would cause great risk to Gordon and his family, how it might damage Gordon's reputation and credibility if people saw him as the kind of person who could be friends with Bruce Wayne. He opened his mouth to tell Gordon all the reasons they couldn't do this, all the reasons they shouldn't risk it, but Gordon beat him to it.

"I know what you're going to say," he said. "A week ago, I told you to tell me who you were, and you said you couldn't live with yourself if you took that risk, and I respected that, because you were going through enough as it was without me making it worse. But now, I know your name and your face. I've held you in my arms as you were bleeding out and I prayed to every God above that the paramedics would show up before it was too late. I watched in the ambulance while you flatlined and I waited here nine hours while you were in surgery. I can't live with myself if I don't do everything in my power to help you in every way I can, and I need _you _to respect that. And I refuse to let you go through this alone. I know I'll be taking a risk, but as I told you last week, it's _my_ risk to take."

They stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills that seemed to go on forever. And for the first time in their long years of partnership, Bruce was the first to cave.

"Okay," he said.

* * *

END.

Whew! It is such a relief that I finally managed to finish this! If you can believe it, my laptop has crashed about four times this month. I back everything up on an external hard drive every day, but unluckily, every time I wrote a new paragraph, the damn thing would crash again before I had a chance to back it up. It was ridiculous! I kept getting stuck at the same paragraph again and again! I'm going to back this up NOW before the damn thing crashes again.

There, that's done. :D

It's been a wonderful experience writing this series. I had planned to make it a tragic ending- I was going to make this fic take place ten years later and have the Batman die from the bullet wound in after already having turned Gotham city around. But I changed my mind when I realised there was no point having them both go through so much only to have the Batman die like that. And I didn't want to cheat my readers who were expecting not just a grand revelation moment but also all the highly charged emotions that followed. I wouldn't have been able to give them that if Gordon found out the Batman was Bruce only to have him die before they even got a chance to talk. So, you have before you a happy ending. Hope you're not disappointed since I did keep saying in my warnings that the series would be very dark and tragic.

As for what I have planned next- first, a oneshot fanfic on the Bollywood film Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I've been on this site since 2003, making me one of the very few Indian writers on this site and I STILL haven't contributed anything to the too-small Bollywood fandom. I'm pretty ashamed of other thing I have planned next is a Supernatural fanfic, something I said I'd do ages ago. But I won't give you any details about that in case I end up disappointing my readers by delaying again. :(

Before I go, there was a small scene I had to cut out because it didn't seem to fit with the mood of Part 2, but which I'm very proud of. I've posted it as a missing scene in the next chapter.


	3. Deleted Scene

NOTE:

This is basically a scene in which Gordon explains in greater detail the story he came up with to explain Bruce Wayne getting shot. I might be more proud of it than is strictly warranted by its quality, but I'm quite kicked had no idea I would be capable of orchestrating anything resembling a grand cover-up. Maybe it's because we were doing Dario Fo's The Accidental Death of an Anarchist in class when I wrote this, I don't know. If there are any holes in it do let me know, so I'll know better next time.

I'm posting it because on this site people tend to be a little obsessive about the tiny details, so I thought it best that I put this in here for both the curious and the sceptical. Enjoy!

* * *

"I don't understand," Bruce said finally. "How did you explain your being there if the Batman was kidnapping me?"

Gordon shifted, looking a little uncomfortable, and Bruce wondered why. And then he realised that as strange as it was for him to hear Gordon mention both his identities in the same sentence, it must be even stranger for Gordon to hear Bruce Wayne talking about the Gordon. "I said that you- Bruce Wayne- had my number and that you somehow managed to keep your phone hidden from the Batman. You called me and told me the Batman had kidnapped you and wanted access to your bank account. But you refused to cooperate, so the Batman shot you and dragged you to the roof of an abandoned building. It was a long time before he got a chance to call me. Obviously the delay meant you'd lost a lot of blood."

It was a good story, but... "What about the phone?" Bruce asked. His phone wouldn't have any record of a call made to Gordon.

Gordon gave an exaggerated shrugged. "_I _have no idea. But when the cops question you, you'll probably tell them that the Batman found the phone on you and was furious. He threw it off the side of the building. We found the pieces on the ground below the building." Gordon hadn't been sure what kind of incriminating evidence might be on the high-tech gadget vaguely resembling a phone that he'd found in a pocket inside the Batman's armour, so he had chucked it off the side of the building. "I called myself from your phone before I got rid of it, so there'll be a record of a thirty-second call from your phone to mine if anyone bothers to check, though they have no reason to doubt the story. I told them the last thing I heard before the line went dead was the Batman growling furiously and you yelling out in pain. I called for paramedics and police backup and rushed to your location immediately. I got there a few minutes before they did because I live nearby."

Bruce scrutinized the story, and was reluctantly impressed. It seemed pretty water-tight. The only thing that made no sense was why the Batman would drag Bruce Wayne across the city to the abandoned warehouse, but they could just chalk that up to his being a psychotic nutjob. A thought struck him, and he asked in alarm, "What about my armour?" His blood was all over it, and if the police tried a DNA match-

"It's in the boot of my car," said Gordon.

_The last place anyone would think to look for it_, Bruce thought, relieved. Gordon had done well for a story he'd had to come up with in the space of half a minute.


End file.
